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Writer's pictureMorgan Tessier

Open Letter to the Wrong Person

Authors Note: These are old feelings and old thoughts - they felt right at the time.




I can’t stop missing you when I’m drunk. That’s not your fault, that’s my bad. I’m going to try not calling you so often.


When we saw each other before, I was so nervous I could barely eat. My stomach wouldn’t let food go down and my throat felt too swollen to swallow.



We spoke for hours.

I don’t even remember leaving you.


But you had gotten on a bus and I kept walking until I remembered where I was, until I found a blow up mattress and my toothbrush.


I visited you at your parent’s apartment. We played some music and danced and I didn’t feel as nervous anymore. I brought you coffee at work the next day and we hugged goodbye.

You told me you wanted to kiss me. I was glad you didn’t.


You didn’t really speak to me after that. I hated texting you without response, so I stopped trying to see if you still liked me and left you somewhere else. Then I had too many tequila shots and I called you in the middle of the night. You were drunk and smoking and seemed happy to hear me speak. I missed you a lot, too much to be normal. I don’t really remember what my normal was, or even is, but it was getting to be a problem.





You were coming here. Not for me, for some other people, but it was close enough. We met up on a corner somewhere. I greeted you with “Hi stranger!” and the hug was nice. I didn’t eat a lot that day.


Sitting at a booth in the back of a bar, we ordered cheap pitchers and you asked why I called you. I had trouble remembering why I did or what I said, so I went with the standard “I missed you I guess, I’m not sure.”


I don’t really know what happened after, but we were holding hands and I started to feel sick.


You said so many things and I was rambling and you wouldn’t stop staring at me. My acne was messy and my face was swollen, but still you stared. We left after three pitchers and held hands as we walked to the station. We sat side by side and my head fell to your shoulder.


You asked if you could kiss me.


It was instinctive almost, to kiss back. It felt alien, so strange from what I remembered.

You got up and I waved as you hurried away. We messaged for a little bit, I woke up and cried in the morning. You hadn’t messaged me back. A day passed, and still nothing.


There wasn’t a lot of follow up - I don’t know what I want to hear from you. I don’t know if I want to hear from you at all. I still feel sick and have been eating too much on a nauseous stomach. You say you miss me a lot and you just wanted to kiss me - no reason beyond that. A goodbye, an “I miss you.”


In my head, we can be friends, talking and laughing and doing normal friend things. But in the darkest corners of my heart, I want to be together. But those are dark places we can’t revisit. If I asked you if you’d be with me again, I think you’d say no. I hope you would say no. For right now, I don’t think I’m able to listen to any part of my body. Every part just wants you still.


I’m not sure how to tell you. You said you wanted me to realize that I built you up into this great big wonderful thing, and there’s so much I have to love where I am. But I think all I’ve realized is that I can love so deeply and care so strongly about one too many people.


I don’t know how to deal with that yet. I don’t know how to deal with you.



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